


A Wink at the Moon

by mydwynter



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Current Events, Ficlet, Flash Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-12 21:38:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/495923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydwynter/pseuds/mydwynter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes John finds it's <i>worth it</i> to bother, when Sherlock is failing to get it.</p><p> </p><p>"This is <i>Neil Armstrong</i>."<br/>"So?"<br/>"The first man to walk on the moon."<br/>"He was fairly old, then. What, eighties?"<br/>"That's—" John spluttered. "That's not the point."<br/>"John." Sherlock spun around to set his feet on the floor, echoing John's exasperation. "He was an old man. Old men die. Just because this man happened to have accomplished something doesn't exempt him from the process."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Wink at the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> A quick piece inspired by the news today. Rest in Peace, Neil. Best of luck on your next mission.

John sighed sadly and rustled his paper. "Neil Armstrong has died."

Sherlock barely shifted from his thinking pose stretched out on the sofa. His concession to the note of sadness in John's voice was a small grunt. "Is it interesting?"

With a blink, John let the paper fall to his lap and he turned sideways to look at Sherlock head-on. "Is it— What, his _death_?!"

"That's a no, then."

"Sherlock." John didn't really know why he still bothered, but as he felt himself hit the red line of exasperation he knew he was about to do it anyway. "This is _Neil Armstrong_."

"So?"

"The first man to walk on the moon."

"He was fairly old, then. What, eighties?"

"That's—" John spluttered. "That's not the point."

"John." Sherlock spun around to set his feet on the floor, echoing John's exasperation. "He was an old man. Old men die. Just because this man happened to have accomplished something doesn't exempt him from the process."

"But—"

"I don't see why people get their panties wadded up because an old man dies. Now, if he was murdered, you have my interest. But if not, kindly shut up about it so I can think." He spun back around and assembled himself back into his previous position.

John continued to stare at Sherlock, an inscrutable look on his face. After a few long moments, he spoke. "Are you going to care when I die?"

Silence fell heavy in the flat. Sherlock blinked. Eventually he said, a bit quietly, "Do you plan to do it any time soon?"

"No, but—"

"Good. Then let's not talk about it. I'm _thinking_ , John."

The tiniest quirk of a smile played about the corner of John's mouth. "People care when people die," he said softly. "Logical or not, they do. It's sad when someone goes, when their…spirit, isn't in the world anymore. They care. It touches them. Even if the person was old, even if their contribution was long in the past. The sum total of… It's… _less_ , without them. And his contribution was very great."

He watched Sherlock's adam's apple bob, though the rest of him was motionless. John got up and walked over to him, and tenderly brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. He kissed the spot. "I'm not going anywhere," he murmured against Sherlock's skin, then wandered into the kitchen to make their tea.


End file.
